To   : Poiuy
From : Flipper
Subj : Thanks, FF.

Flipper hung up the phone with a dejected sigh.

After being put on hold twelve times, transferred to sixteen
different departments, and forced to introduce himself and explain
his situation forty-seven times, he had been informed that he had
bought the animals on sale, and therefore, he could not return
them.

Flipper shook his head. He couldn't remember ordering any more
animals. Mind you, he admitted to himself that he couldn't really
remember much of anything he'd done for the last 12 hours or so.
But he hadn't really thought much about re-opening the Oceanarium
since he'd closed it, at Carolina's request. She was right, after
 all. He couldn't keep the dolphins and whales, practically his
brothers, cooped up in tanks.

With yet another sigh, he picked up the phone and placed a call to
the movers who'd helped him release the dolphins to the ocean last
time.

     * * *

All details taken care of, Flipper stood at the door of his
bedroom, looking in where Carolina lay, still unconscious. He felt
rather helpless merely looking at her. He didn't know why she kept
doing this.

Finally he went up to her, and sat down on the bed next to her. He
took her flipper in his own, and held it, merely looking into her
face. He remembered what had happened last time he'd tried to wake
her. It had been nice, but he found himself too shy to try it
again.

He hummed softly, hoping she would wake up on her own.

     * * *

[She no longer found herself hovering over the Oceanarium, but
rather swimming alone in a crystal blue sea, in the calm waters of
a small inlet. She realized when saw saw a boat motor on the smooth
sea bed that she recognized the cove as more than deja vue.

A soft tune carried itself on the wind when she surfaced to
breathe, but she could not locate a source.]

     * * *

He sat on a bench at a counter in one of hundreds of greasy truck-
stops along his route. He wore a dirty white t-shirt which made no attempt
to hide his well muscled body. His dark hair had slight high-lights of
grey, revealing his age. His ice-blue eyes were as cold as they looked, and
his granite face revealed no emotion. This was to be expected, for he was a
man who lived without emotion.

He consulted his notebook, which included a few newspaper
advertisements, now several months old, regarding a "new"
attraction, "Flipper's Oceanarium".


It had taken him some time to track her down to this attraction,
but when he'd put all the clues he'd found, both in/by her pool and
on her trail, it clicked quite nicely.

And if he played his cards right, he could come out of this with
two main attractions for his show, instead of just one.

He allowed himself the barest hint of a smile to form at the edges
of his lips.

But first, she must pay for her escape. Oh yes, she'd pay dearly.


To   : The Cat In The Hat
From : Flipper
Subj : He came back.

Several hours later, he stood before the Oceanarium. He gazed at
the complex, taking it in with neither awe nor distaste. He merely
observed it.

He approached the gate, and looked at it momentarily. He gazed at
the "closed" sign and the chain locking the gate shut, then removed
a pack from where he had been carrying it on his shoulder. He
removed a pair of bolt cutters and cut the chain, allowing it to
drop onto the ground.

He replaced the cutters in the pack, and slung it back over his
shoulder, casually pushing the gate open and entering the
Oceanarium.

     * * *

Carolina continued to lay, unmoving except for the occasional
breath. Flipper waited anxiously by her side for a change, not
knowing how long he should wait before he got worried.

It wouldn't have mattered, because he was worried from the start.
But he didn't know what to do about it.

     * * *

[Carolina swam calmly through the still waters. This was her quiet
place, where she came to relax, and escape when things got too
harsh on the other side.

She hadn't been here for a long time, not since Flipper had joined
her, as a result of the poison. She shuddered slightly, and
wondered what he was doing.

She could hardly believe he'd gone and restocked the Oceanarium.
And yet, she didn't. She had thought she'd seen two of him.

She shook her head. Something was obviously wrong. Perhaps she
should try to get back.

The warm water soothed her body, and the gentle currents comforted
her.

In a few minutes. Then she'd try.]


To   : Lazy Bums
From : Rancid Instigator
Subj : So go write something!

        TV sets, that night, weren't operating in the city.  Elsewhere, a
frantic, desperate anchorman, his toupee bobbing up and down on his head, like
it was a live pet, was interrupting sitcoms with rather grim news.

        "Breaking news this hour:  At 22:30, a very large asteroid, made of
pure iron, crashed into a residential section of Oceanaria, destroying several
apartment buildings, most of which were occupied."

        The view switches to that of the scene of devestation.  A very badly
mangled, rusty replica of the Naughty Nymph sits on a heap of rubble, with
fires burning fitfully hither and thither.  The rubble, as the camera slowly
pans around, is barely recognizable as apartment buildings.  The camera
continues to swing around, finally resting upon an apartment building that the
ship had crashed THROUGH, simply snapping it in half, leaving the bottom
segment still standing.

        "Emergency teams were quickly summoned and on the spot, but work was
hampered by the lack of communications.  The asteroid, being made of iron, is
also magnetic and has been interfering with all communications."

        At eleven o'clock, many people tuned into the news station.  The
anchorman gave the same review of the accident, then the camera turned to face
a haggard, weary-looking military man, a fair amount of decorations hanging
tastefully from his dress uniform.

        "We've got an idea who's been responsible for this national tragedy,"
said the man, anger filling his features.  "Several hours ago, aliens who'd
landed in Oceanaria made claims to this planet."

        The TV view changes entirely, filling millions of rooms with a green
glow.  Sitting in the forest adjoining the Oceanarium is a huge ship, the
Naughty Nymph proper, entirely unmangled, not rusty, and not having any
protruding bits of angle iron.  A large man stands in the exit hatch, naked,
muscular torso made shiny with sweat, inflating very slightly with his breath.
A large, cruel whip is in his hand, the end snaking to the ground.  Lying in
the mud near his feet are three women, face down.

        "I can do it myself," he says in a bass rumble, and the camera angle
changes slightly to catch the light reflecting from his retinas, making them
appear red and bestial.

        The camera changes back to the news show, but few people are
interested, and the show is no longer watched.

---------------------

        Paranoia did not increase in Oceanaria; the sheer bulk of the
magnetized ship was interfering with transmissions.  Radios returned only
static, and televisions showed only white snow.  Telephones near the afflicted
area did not work either, and only barely worked within thirty kilometers.
Rescue teams had to yell at each other and send messengers.

        Janne, running quickly, had made good her escape.  Steiner and Sequoia,
along with their pet, were found walking from the afflicted area, were stopped
by a rescue team, and offered emergency accomodations, which they declined.
They walked on, meeting a team and the same offer every fifty meters for a
kilometer.

        Time passed.  They walked for kilometers through the city, stopping
only occasionally for a drink, and continuing their way.

        The moon set.

        False dawn.

        The sun rose on a pair of figures, one dusty with a cut forehead and
rather weary, the other merely weary.  Their destination was surrounded by a
cordon of reporters, and as soon as the pair was spotted, a quiet murmur spread
visibly through the newspeople.  One of them, a small, fidgety male, faced the
pair from a considerable distance and addressed them.

        "You're, uhh, the aliens, right?" asked the fidgety male.

        "Yeh," replied Steiner, stalking closer to his ship.

        "You, ahh, got any zippers underneath your clothes?" asked the guy.

        Steiner screwed up his face in disgust and continued, now scant meters
from the man.

        "Skin!" whispered another reporter, nudging the first in the shoulder.
The first man skittishly approached, and much to Steiner's surprise, reached up
to his cut forehead with his fingers.

        Equally to Steiner's surprise, the man dug sharp fingernails into the
wound and started to rip at the cut.  Steiner roared in pain, grabbed the man
by the neck, and hoisting him from the ground, began shaking him vigourously,
rather like a castanet.

        "Hey, you can't treat him like that!" yelled another, charging at
Steiner and getting deflected away by Sequoia with a well-placed
shoulder-check.  Steiner's victim began thrashing, and among other things, a
monogrammed wallet fell out, bearing the name "Bob".  Sequoia had it in her
posession before it hit the ground.

        "You aliens are all alike," screamed the woman from Life-Time (one of
the authors of "Amazing Coincidences"), "thinking you can just boss us all
around," and tried to scratch Sequoia across the face with nylon fingernails.
Sequoia, on the other hand, never having been trained in fighting like a woman,
merely reached back and planted a vicious punch square on her face.  Steiner's
victim had gone limp, so he threw him to the ground like a rag doll.

        This was enough for the reporters, who suddenly remembered, all too
well, their treatment at the business end of the GUN.  Now that they were
weaponless, it was time to establish a proper hierarchy:  reporters over the
news, even if the news was gun-wielding maniacs, world-ruling despots, or
nuclear accidents.  Certainly, no piddling aliens were going to boss them
around.

        The aliens, not really even being aliens at all, didn't share the same
view of this, and since they didn't want their skins removed, they fought in
sheer desperation.


To   : We Want Cache!
From : Rancid Instigator
Subj : We do.  We really do.

        Almost anyone Steiner hit collapsed after a precious few blows, but by
simply mobbing him, he was taking his share of hits as well.  He was
occasionally capable of grabbing an opponent and heaving him back at the mob,
which gave him a few seconds of breathing space.  Sequoia, on the other hand,
was carefully deflecting blows with her arms and planting brutal kicks onto
whatever part of her antagonist's anatomy was exposed, and she was very rapidly
ringed by several victims, twitching on the ground, holding their abused parts
on their hands and moaning very softly.

        Several cameraman simply let their own instincts take over and simply
recorded the incident.  The magnetic field of Kramodac's ruined ship interfered
with most of the video cameras at this range, but the occasional clip made it
on film.  Look, there:  Sequoia delivered a crouching uppercut to a fat blob of
a newsman, lifting him slightly off his feet and crashing him to the ground.
Look, over there:  Steiner took a right hook to the jaw, a bit of bloodied
saliva spraying from his mouth, but countered with a elbow-noogie.

        It seemed to take all time, but it seemed to take no time at all.
Rather winded, Sequoia stepped from her ring of flesh to gaze at Steiner, who
looked to be on the verge of exhaustion.  He was bleeding from two separate
cuts on the lip and one nostril, one cheek looked as if it received a blow from
a brick, and his face was going to puff out in several places.

        "Ow," he muttered, and willingly accepted Sequoia's shoulder as he
staggered to the ship.

        "I think I've got an idea for at least a little more privacy,
anyway," he muttered, putting his bruised knuckles to the door-opening stud and
collapsing in the captain's seat.

        "It's just a short jaunt, no more than a few hundred meters."

        With a deft, albeit sore hand on the controls, Steiner piloted the
wretched craft into an old, deserted tank at the Oceanarium.  With rapid
movements, he jumped out and began stringing barbed wire around the outside
rim.

        "Heh, nobody'll get in here now," he snickered, rigging the barbed
wire to his ship's electrical system and pocketing a remote control.

        Time passed.  He had fun.  Sequoia grew bored.

------------------------

        "Know what we need?" he asked.

        "What do we need?" she asked, acting out a role with obvious
indifference.

        "I'll show you what we need," he replied, striding up to an intercom,
mashing a button with his thumb.

        "Welcome to Flipper's Oceanarium.  Regretfully, I'll be off-planet
for an indefinate period of time; I've been sucked up by white cat-like
aliens.  If you'd like to leave a message, I'll try to get back to you as
soon as I can.  Thank you."

        The speaker belched a beep at him, and the RECORD light came on.

        "Yeah, Flipper?  Lookit, this is Steiner.  I've been flying all about
the galaxy, beating up on all manner of ugly critters, getting shot at by
other critters, getting attacked by crazed chicks with swords, beaten up by
insane, stupid reporters, having all my weapons stolen by magnetic people who
think they're Pinrut, and generally staying out for long periods of time in
smelly, dank bars.

        "So here I am, sweaty, bloody, bruised and battered, not to mention
covered with blood, sweat, and dust, and I'm in a particularily bad mood.
Now, me an' Sequoia are going to go in and use one of your showers.  I think
it's long overdue.  Well, you can find me somewhere.  Yeah.  Have a day.

        "Oh yeah, by the way, we've sorta borrowed one of the tanks.  It'll
be a sort of shocking experience to whoever tries to get in."

        With a nudge, he directed Sequoia at one of the doors of the main
building.  With a knowing smirk, she deftly picked the lock and they entered.

        One of the "EMPLOYEES ONLY" rooms had a shower installed.  They
opened that lock with a lot less subtlety...this is to say, of course, the 
boot as a lockpicking device.

        Closing the door, Sequoia removed her bracers and placed them on the
sink.  Steiner brought a hand closer to examine them.

        "Don't touch 'em," she said, "you'll get fingerprints on 'em and it
takes forever to clean 'em afterwards."

        She began removing her clothes, tossing them in a heap on the ground,
then began running the shower.  Steiner, somewhat caught offguard, averted
his eyes and watched the door most studiously.

        Sequoia popped into the shower and began doing shower-things.  The
shower curtain obstructed the view.

        "So, about those bracers of yours," he began.

        "Err, yeah," she said from within the shower, "they're family
heirlooms."

        She peeped out between the curtain and the wall.  Steiner was still
staring at the door.

        "My grandmother gave 'em to me.  They were supposedly from her
grandmother, and so on.  Supposedly, at my great-great-grandmother was named
'Sequoia' as well."

        "I did a bit of research into 'em.  Supposedly they're supposed to be
good for protection.  Neat, hey?"

        Steiner grunted at the door.

        "Yeah," she continued, "it's probably all just a gimmick or
something, but you have to admit that they do look neat, don't they?"

        "Err, yeah," he said, still fixated on the door.

        "Steiner, do me a favour?" she asked, "bring me a towel?  I've got
soap in my eyes."

        Steiner, eyes averted, brought her the towel.  She reached out with
an arm, knocked the towel aside, grabbed him by the collar and yanked him,
much to his surprise, into the shower, fully clothed.

        The narrator, much to his chagrin, was chased out with a damp towel.


To   : It's Shocking
From : Flipper
Subj : I'm slowly realizing the size of a 2000" TV

Flipper looked up as the man entered his office, where he'd been looking at
his old Deathtongue outfit, still sitting in a corner, and rusting
slightly. He dropped it quickly, somewhat embarrassed.

"Er... can I help you?" he asked. "We're not exactly open, you know."

The man smiled. He seemed to be a good specimen. The trip wasn't a total
waste after all. But he'd have to bide his time, and wait till things were
right.

"Yes," he started, smiling broader. A chill ran down Flipper's spine,
although he wasn't sure why.

"Yes, I've heard Carolina was staying here, and I wanted to pay her a
visit."

"You know Carolina?" asked Flipper, shocked.

"You mean, she didn't tell you about me?" asked the man, sweetness dripping
from his smile.

"Well.. no," replied Flipper hesitantly. "She didn't really say much of
anything about her past."

He shook his head in mock sympathy. "Having blackouts again, is she? That's
a shame. We travelled together for several years," he said.

Flipper was more and more intrigued. He'd always felt Carolina would reveal
her past when she was ready, but this man already knew. Maybe he'd tell
him?

"Where is she now?" asked the man, putting on his most innocent smile.

"She's... blacked out again, I guess," replied Flipper. At that point
Steiner's message came through the intercom.

"Excuse me," said Flipper, somewhat surprised. He turned to the intercom on
the wall behind him and hit the button.

"Steiner?" he called. "Steiner?! Hello? What's up?" Hearing no response, he
shook his head.

     * * *

Carolina slowly opened her eyes, fighting off waves of dizziness. She could
hear Flipper talking to someone, and calling for Steiner.

She shook her head for a moment, and her vision and hearing cleared. She
heard a baritone voice.

"Can I see her?"

Then Flipper's hesitant affirmative. The voice scared her, but she couldn't
quite place it.

Then the man stepped into the room, followed closely by Flipper. All the
horrible memories flooded back all at once, blocking her senses and
crowding out her thoughts.

She screamed. It was all she could think of to do.


To   : Frank's 2000" Tv
From : Flipper
Subj : Everybody come and see...

"Carolina! What's wrong?" asked Flipper, rushing to her side.

"Carolina, honey, what kind of welcome is that for your old friend Al?"
asked the man.

Carolina cringed back from him, as far as she could against the wall.
Flipper glanced quickly at the man, then back at Carolina. Worry clouded
his features.

"Go away," whispered Carolina, her voice shaking.

This time the man's smile was definitely evil, even Flipper could see it.

"Oh, come now," he chided. "I'm not here to hurt you..." He pulled a whip
from his pack, and his expression darkened. "Much," he added.

     * * *

Elmer Tavener was his name. He hated the name Elmer. When he was young,
bullies made fun of his name. So he grew strong, and adopted the name Al.
When he got strong enough, he turned the tables, and became the bully
himself.

He made his living with his travelling sideshow, a caravan of freaks and
acts. He'd come across Carolina one night at a remote beach in Mexico,
where he'd heard reports of a ghost that visited the ocean every night. It
had turned out to be Carolina, but he didn't tell anyone.

He'd been impressed with her perfect beauty, because of the money he saw in
it. Since she was intelligent, he'd laid on compliments and promised her a
good life, not having to hide from people any more.

She'd bought it all, as he knew she would. He put her in a tiny pool, and
told her she'd have to perform for her food. She'd accepted it for a while,
but she'd eventually told him that she couldn't stand the cramped
conditions, or being on the road all the time, and that she wanted to
leave.

He threw a fit. Hadn't he given her a place to live? Fed her? All in return
for a few crummy shows a week? Not good enough. He couldn't afford to lose
the revenue she was starting to generate.

They fought. He was shocked at her strength, but he'd prevailed in the end.
He forced her back into her tank, and sealed her in. She'd been beaten
badly, and the bruises showed on her white skin, so she couldn't perform
for a few days. This angered him all the more. After that, she'd started
refusing to perform.

He withheld her food until she finally gave in, and performed weakly. He
withheld her food for two more days, to be sure she'd behave.

One day he tried the whip on her. He liked the whip. The scars were small,
and healed much faster than the bruises. It came to be both incentive and
punishment. Every day he pushed her to leap higher, flip faster, and
generally wow the crowd more.

Then she'd escaped. Ungrateful wench. He'd made her almost famous, and she
ran out on him.

No matter. He'd punish her, then he'd take her and her boyfriend back to
the show.

Double billing. Double takes. He'd be rolling in the money.

But first things first.


To   : Vegetarian Scene
From : Rancid Instigator
Subj : Won't buy me a pair of designed jeans.

        While the sounds of splashing and feminine giggling were sounding from
one quarter of the city, the sounds of crackling electricity was heard from
another.

        Kramodac sat in a coffee hole, with bolts of blue energy crackling from
his body and burning holes into the wooden table at which he sat.  His eyes
narrowed when someone approached him, but relaxed slightly when he identified
the person as a waitress.

        "Wow, you look really wound up," she said.  He glanced at a light
fixture overhead, and electricity arced from his right shoulder to the lamp,
washing the room with a brief burst of brilliant orange light.  He looked at
her glumly.

        "So, what'll ya have?" she asked.

        The corner of his mouth twitched downwards slightly, then jumped back
to its origin, glum, solemn position.

        "I've got just the thing that'll perk ya up," she continued.

        He managed a microscopic shrug in response.  Every item within five
feet was given a powerful static charge and began clinging to each other.

        She returned with a steaming, clear glass of milky brown fluid, wrapped
in a linen napkin to prevent burns.  He sipped at it.  Chocolate... coffee...
chocolate-flavoured coffee.  It tasted good; it felt good burning a hole
through his throat.  He began visibly relaxing.

        She returned a few minutes later to find the glass empty, sitting on
four hundred-dollar bills and a note:

        "Thanks.  It did the trick.  I think this should cover the damage."

---------------------

        Kramodac strode down the arts-district street, feeling, for the first
time in this story, quite pleased.  He glanced at himself in a plate-glass
window:  no crazy blue eyes, no electricity, no blue auras.  It had been a bad
dream.

        He stopped at a newspaper stand and bought a newpaper to orient himself
with his surroundings.  The newspaper was exceedingly dull, dealing mostly with
morbid topics, and had only one page dedicated to comics.  Obviously Terra.

        The front page dealt with aliens, which was unusual in and of itself.
There were reports of a human-looking pair, who attacked innocent reporters
repeatedly.  There were stories of another alien, also human-looking, who
apparently dealt in slaves.  Tales of a large block of iron squashing a whole
city block flat rounded off the first page's highlights.

        "Heh, that'd be worth seeing," he chuckled to himself, then stopped,
slightly aghast at his callousness.  He shrugged expressively and began walking
towards the huge column of smoke mounting into the sky.

        On the third page, a brief article describing a blonde, crazed woman,
wielding a sword, who killed men for no obvious reason gave him a delighted
chuckle.  It sounded too absurd to be real.

---------------------

        Plopper eventually grew tired with excessive wealth.  It had lost its
novelty.  With a casual wave of a miniscule portion of its mind, it erased the
alternate universe and reset itself back into the old one.  With an almost
audible shriek of alarm, it looked up to see a huge hunk of iron descending
upon the block it was on.

        It quickly decided that, perhaps, wealth wouldn't be so bad afterall,
but having been too entirely diverted, it found itself landing in a tiny,
enclosed room, filled with steam and hot water raining down from a nozzle in
the ceiling... and two naked forms.  The female shrieked.

        "PLOPPER!" bellowed Steiner.

        Plopper, being a rather intelligent sort of critter, hopped out of the
shower and wetly plopped its way out of the room, carelessly leaving the door
behind in its haste.

        Steiner poked his head out of the shower, saw the open door, and
shrugged.  He tossed his drenched clothes onto the floor, where they landed
with sick slaps.

        "Now, where were we?" he chuckled, reaching for soap with a sort of
devlish look on his face.  Clearly, the narrator's further presence was
unwelcome.

---------------------

        Janne spent the better part of the day in a sort of daze.  She passed
over many chances to propose to single men; she seemed quite engrossed with
something beyond mere combat and paid less attention to her appearance than she
was normally wont to.

        As she passed under a tree, she heard a very faint mewing.  Directly
above her was an adorable little kitten, grey with a white belly, standing on a
dangerously thin branch.

        "What are you doing there, cat?" she asked it.

        "Mew!" it replied.

        Recognition slowly dawned on Janne.

        "Say, aren't you that cat that did those nasty things to me last
night?"

        The kitten returned a sweet and innocent gaze.

        "Oh, hell," she murmured, "it's hard to stay mad at you, you know?"
She motioned for the kitten to approach, and it merely dropped from the tree
onto her cloak-covered armoured shoulder, dug in some claws, and rode on with
her, pausing only every now and then to rub against her chin.


To   : Dolphins Dolphins Dolphins
From : Flipper
Subj : I just hadta say that.

"Wait a minute!" squealed Flipper suddenly, in shock. "What are you doing?"

Al cracked the whip at him. The tip stung Flipper, and he cringed back.

"I'll deal with you when I'm done," growled Al. He then turned his
attention to Carolina, who cringed back even farther into the corner.

"No, please!" cried Carolina.

"Ungrateful, eh?" muttered Al. "I gave you everything, and you ran out. Now
you're going to pay me back for all the lost wages, those shows you didn't
do."

He raised the whip. Both Flipper and Carolina squeezed their eyes shut,
cringing.

There was a sharp crack, and the sound of Carolina yelping in pain. It was
as much emotional as physical pain, and Flipper found something stir inside
him at the sound. He opened his eyes.

Al has his back to Flipper, and he chuckled as he raised his whip again.

The sheer cruelty awakened something in Flipper which had tried to rise
before, but always fallen short. A feeling, a sense of love and duty. A
sense of outrage, that he'd actually allowed this man to hurt Carolina,
because he feared the whip. All at once the meekness which he'd lived with
for so long willingly stepped back to allow his true rage to flow. Not some
faked-out trauma induced rage, but true, righteous rage.

Deciding the narrator had tried long enough to explain what was going on,
Flipper stepped forward and grabbed Al's raised arm, and spun him around.

Al looked at him with a slightly startled look, which quickly changed into
an annoyed sneer. He opened his mouth to speak.

Summoning all of his cetacean strength, Flipper punched Al in the mouth. Al
dropped the whip and stumbled back, startled, and blood began to pour from
his cut lips.

"Leave her alone," yelled Flipper, his voice contorted with anger never
before unleashed.

Carolina opened her eyes and looked in wonder. It was not the evil Flipper
she'd seen before, he stood tall and proud, and the demonic gleam was not
in his eyes this time. But he still stood, threatening and in charge.

Al didn't see this. Al saw a beast trying to stand up to him. Al could take
care of this. He had in the past, he would again. He could easily put this
creature in it's place.

He allowed sheer rage to fill his face. He and Flipper faced each other for
several seconds, glaring.

Flipper's glare faultered for a moment, as his gentler side questioned
whether that was all there was to it.

Al leapt with a snarl, catching Flipper off guard, and knocking him to the
ground. Flipper fought with all his fury, but Al fought with his strength
and experience. For several minutes they grappled, rolling and punching,
neither gaining an advantage.

Flipper slowly began to tire. Although he didn't notice, Al did, and
redoubled his attacks. Soon, the final blow. He only really needed ONE main
attraction, anyway.

Carolina noticed, too, and feared for Flipper. She nervously stood up, and
picked up the lamp off the bedside table.

She hesitated, frightened. Last time she'd stood up to Al she'd been hurt,
badly. She looked at the battle, and listened to Flipper's heavy breathing,
giving away his growing exhaustion.

She moved quickly over to the two, and threw the lamp down at Al's head. It
connected, and shattered, spewing heavy ceramic chunks all over the floor.
Al collapsed on top of Flipper, who threw Al off with a roar, then leapt on
top of him, hitting for all he was worth.

"Flipper!" cried Carolina, as Flipper continued pounding. "FLIPPER!" she
called again. Getting no response, she touched him on the shoulder.

He turned to her with a roar, and a raised flipper ready to attack. She
stepped back, fearfully. His gaze quickly softened, and his eyes went wide.
He lowered his flipper and looked down at Al.

"oh..." he said. "OH!" he repeated, panic building.

"It's ok," cooed Carolina. "Take it easy, I knocked him out."

Flipper looked at her, panic just beneath the surface.

"I hit him with the lamp," she continued, indicating the ceramic shards.
Flipper looked around, calming only slightly.

"We'd better go before he wakes up," she finished, offering her fin to help
Flipper up. Flipper stood, and they exitted the room.

They took refuge in another room, deep in the complex, and Carolina used a
small sink to attend to Flipper's wounds.

"What did I do?" muttered Flipper, somewhat fearfully.

"You saved me," replied Carolina lovingly. Flipper turned and looked into
her eyes. After a moment they embraced, and the lights went out.


To   : Readers Digress?
From : Tuxedo Dolphin
Subj : Had to finally do something about it...

Not-Flipper wandered about outside the compound, travelling amongst the
many tanks.  Some of the tanks were already being emptied, as dolphins and
whales were wrapped in wet blankets and carried into trucks by small
groups of movers.

He hadn't even had time to do what he came for, thought Not-Flipper,
gritting his cetacean teeth and chittering angrily.  He had wanted to
first bring the word to these unenlightened beings, but before he could
get started, they were moved out again!  It was experience born of a
thousand years that told Not-Flipper these 'dolphins' would be good
disciples.

Of course, he could try to bring it to the 'humans', the technologically
dominant species on this world, but it seemed a hopeless task.  And if he
couldn't liberate a single planet, what chance did he have in the rest of
the wide reaches of this universe?

It was time for a different plan.  He examined the human workers for
awhile, and metamorphed into what seemed a good human form, tall, black
haired, dark eyes and a well developed musculature and tan.  It wasn't the
best body he'd ever had, but it would do on short notice.  A quick scan of
the worker's minds revealed that a name would be useful too.  And so
Not-Flipper christened himself Will.

Will left the compound and headed for town, hoping to spread his gospel.


To   : Dolphins Go Golfin'
From : Phantom
Subj : I had to say that too.

  The Dragons were the toughest gang in the area.  Nobody ever messed with
the Dragons, at least not twice.  So mean that they were even avoided by
the police, the Dragons pretty much had the run of the seedier side of the
city.  If a Dragon asked you to drop to your knees and lick his boots
clean, you better do it, and you better do it quick.

  This night saw the Dragons in the local McDonalds, which they had just
recently cleared of all of the customers.  They lounged about in the
plastic chairs underneath which an extensive collection of gum rivalling a
candy store's resided, picking their teeth, idly fondling the terrified
cashiers, and talking about what they could do next.

  "Maybe we could go knock over old lady Fitzgerald's mailbox!!"

  "Naw, we did that yesterday.  Let's go on the Covermby bridge and spit
on the cars!!!"

  "No... This is great!!!  Why don't we go toilet paper the post
office!!!"

  "I think we sh...."

  "SHADDUP!!!!!!"

  The gang members fell silent as Hawk, the recognized leader of the gang,
slammed his bat on the table, sending a shower of half-eaten half-meat
flying in all directions.

  "Look, I'm sick of this crap!!!  You guys are pathetic!!!  What kind of
stupid suggestions are twits making!?!?  We're the toughest gang in the
city, if not on the seaboard, and all you want to do is go toilet paper a
friggin' office?!  I want a real suggestion!  We're gonna do something
that this town is gonna remember!!  We're in control!  Let's prove it!!"

  Hawk began turning, looking from one bewildered member to the next.  The
recently noisy McDonalds was now filled by a pervasive silence, broken
only occasional hm, haw, and the flick of one's eye as it tried
desperately to avoid eye contact with Hawk.

  Unfortunately, that was easier said then done.

  Spike, the newest member of the gang, and thus not as skilled as the
other members in the gang, gulped audibly as he found his eyes slowly
pulled to those of Hawks.  

  Hawk bent closer and pointed the bat in his face, "You!  Spike!  What
are we gonna do tonight?!?"

  Spike flinched back, sweat pouring down his face, bowels loosening
uncomfortably.  He would have to say something soon, something quick,
something intelligent... Or else something very bad would happen. 
Summoning up his courage, or what was left of it, he spouted out the first
thing he thought of, praying that it was at least half-intelligent.

   "LET'S GO TO THE GROCERY STORE, BREAK INTO IT, AND THEN TORTURE ALL THE
PEAS!!!!"

  Almost crying right there, Spike closed his eyes and awaited the xpected
flurry of blows from the baseball bat that would reduce him to a pulpy
mess.  

  But they never came.  Cautiously he opened one eye, then the other, to
find a grinning Hawk in front of him.

  "Cool!  You heard the man!  Let's get them peas!!"


To   : My Mom
From : Phantom
Subj : Dinner?

The lock was broken and the door was leaning slightly inward.  The usual
darkness of the grocery store at this time of night was broken by the
light streaming over from the produce section.  Although it was dim, it
was still enough light to see the body of the night watchman, who was
sprawled on the floor, unconscious, if not dead.

  Filtering over tfrom the produce section, seemingly carried by the waves
of light, were distant, triumphant cries of success...

  "Crush!  Crush!  Crush!  I crush your head!"

  "I'm pulling your skin off!!  Eeeeeee-hehehehehe!!!"

  "Take this, round, green, vegetable thingie!!!"

  "Idiot!  That's a brussel sprout!"

  The conversation died out, as the glass doorway was opened with such
force that the glass shattered.

  "Hey, what was that?"

  "Ummm... Must've been the wind."

  "Oh, duh, ok.  Watch this."

  Conversation resumed, but only shortly, as once again it was
interrupted, this time by the sound of footsteps approaching from the
door's direction.

  "What's that?"

  "Footsteps."

  "Oh."

  "Yeah."

  With the IQ of someone about to be killed, they went back to the
torturing of the innocent legumenage.

  "Hey, what's that?"

  "Umm.  It appears to be a great big guy holding a massive basebal bat,
foaming at the mouth, and glaring at us with an extremely angry
expression."

  "Yep, sure does.  Do you think he want's to be friends?"

  "I dunno.  Maybe if we turn around and ignore him, he'll leave us
alone."

  Conversation once again resumed, but for even a shorter period of time. 
Cries of "MY CHILDREN!!" and squishy thumps of flesh being rearranged
forceably quickly dimmed any attempts at conversation.


To   : Frogs!!!
From : Phantom
Subj : You're green, you know?

  Beth pressed herself against the back of the alleyway, arms scratching
the wall behind her, searching for an exit that she knew wasn't there.  In
front of her stood the menacing figure of her ex-boyfriend, hands
clenching and unclenching, belaying the smooth, calm appearance of his
voice.

  "C'mon Beth.  I know you want it.  We had such a good time together, and
I know you still have the same feelings for me."

  "No Peter, I don't love you anymore.  Not after what you did to me!"

  "No, I didn't do anything to you.  You wanted it, remember.  And it
wasn't fair for you to change your mind after we started.  You love me,
remember?  You even told me."

  Beth began to shiver, trying to ignore the tears rolling down her face.
"NO!!  I didn't love you!!  I never loved you!!!!  You're an asshole!!! 
YOU RAPED ME!!!"

  Peter's face contorted with anger, a viewable spasm that travelled
through his entire body, down to his hands, which now had in their grasp a
switchblade.
  
  "No Beth, you've got it all wrong.  I love you, and you love me.  Why do
you deny me what I deserve?  There's no use fighting it Beth... You know
you want it..."

  Peter began advancing, and Beth, in terror, tried to shrink against the
wall, trying to find some way, somehow, to get out of this horrible
nightmare.

  
  Naturally, Beth was as shocked as Peter when a figure came up behind
Peter and tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

  Peter turned around slowly, enraged at being interuppted, to find a
hulking man in front of him, carrying a huge sack over his shoulder. 
Reaching into the sack the man grabbed something in his hand and pulled it
out, extending it to Peter.

  "Could you hold onto this please?"

  Peter, caught off guard by the command of the voice, held out his hand
underneath the man's and accepted a collection of small round objects. 
Holding them closer to his face, he could make out about a dozen peas or
so.

  His gaze was ripped from the peas in his hands as the man who had given
them to him suddenly screamed, "MY CHILDREN!!  YOU'RE HURTING MY
CHILDREN!!!", and before Peter could move, the man brought out a huge
baseball and brought it down on Peter with horrific force, tumbling his
world into blackness.

  Beth watched through tear filled eyes as the man gingerly reached down
to Peter and pried the peas from his hand carefully, so as not to damage
them.  He put them back into his sack, whispering softly to them, and
then, striding over Peter, helped Beth to his feet.

  Smiling at Beth, he turned around and left, pausing only once to kick
the prone body of Peter in the ribs, hard.


To   : Oogily Oog
From : Rancid Instigator
Subj : 50% of the OQ warcry.

     Showers were always meant to save people time, not use up more of it.
Originally a device designed in the '60s as an attempt to "get back with
nature," the shower is recognized by the ecologically conscious as a very
effective water-saver.

     However, Steiner and Sequoia seemed to have defeated it's original
purpose.  They spent a dreadfully long time there, doing things that some
people would pay a lot of money to see, and in the process, establishing some
sort of mental rapport.

     There they stayed until the hot-water tank was drained.  Much to the
ecology's dismay, the hot-water tank was very large.  Flipper, being a kind
boss, didn't like to spare his employees any amenity.

     The door, having been left open by Plopper's very quick escape, allowed a
great deal of super-heated, moisture-laden air to escape.  This stream of air
met some chilled air from the outdoors.  The second stream served to cool off
the first, which, as any meteorological student could tell you, would cause the
moisture held by the first to drop out.

     In other words, the halls were filled with a rather dense fog.  It WAS a
pretty long shower, after all.

     Through this fog cautiously walked two figures:  one about 6'5", with very
wet clothes and squishy shoes, the other just over five feet, with very dry
clothes.  Brassy light seemed to glitter from metallic plates on this person's
arms.

     The two figures approached a room, with dolphin paintings on the walls, a
dolphin telephone, many dolphin figurines on a desk, and a curious looking
heap of metal and leather in the corner.

     However, the desk had been knocked over, the figurines had been thrown
about the room in some sort of disaster, the extra chairs in the room had been
crushed, and there were many shards of broken pottery lying about.  Standing
groggily in the midst of this was a gray-haired, somewhat tall individual.

     "Hey, isn't that Flipper's office?" asked Steiner, recognizing the
dolphins for what they were.

     "Why, it certainly is," replied Sequoia, a smirk spreading on her face.

     "What on earth is that man doing in there, then?"

     "Why, it looks like he's trying to trash the office."

     Sequoia's smirk turned evil, and she stalked into the room like a cat
playing with geriatric mice.

     The man, no stranger to violence and no idiot either, hastily readied his
whip and cracked it at Sequoia's face.  She casually lifted an arm, and the
whip coiled about her bracer like a snake.

     The man prepared to yank on the whip and draw Sequoia in for a punch, when
he heard a soft squish behind him.  He had just enough time to widen his eyes
before he was dragged into a painfully tight full-nelson.

     Sequoia, with slow, delicate movements, used her free hand to remove the
whip from her arm, and oozed towards the man like an ill-boding omen, her evil
smirk replaced with a very pleasant and alluring smile.

     With slow, almost sensuous movements, she traced her fingers down the
man's chest, tracing lazy circles on his ribs, until she found what she was
looking for:  his wallet.  With a victorious cry, she yanked it from his pocket
and peered inside.  She quickly pocketed the cash she found, and began throwing
his ID over her shoulder, until she found something that made her pause:  an
old Polaroid photograph.

     Although it was badly dogeared and bent, the photo on it was still good.
It bore, on its surface, a picture of an albino dolphin, badly bruised, but
quite recognizeable as Carolina.

     "We owe Flipper a favour for the shower, right?" she asked Steiner, who
grunted his assent and tightened his grip on the man still further.

     With a very rapid move, she rammed a pair of her fingers into the man's
nostrils.  Steiner, having seen the long and sharp fingernails she sported,
winced in sympathetic pain and would have pinched his nose shut, had he had a
free hand.  The man, on the other hand, could only open his eyes in pain and
climb up on his toes.

     "Sooooo," muttered Sequoia, squinting her eyes in annoyance, "just what
are you doing here?"

     The man ground his teeth together, but didn't make a sound.  Sequoia
jabbed gently upwards with her fingernails, and a bit of blood trickled from
his nose.

     "I can't hear you," she uttered between clenched teeth.

     The man remained still remained silent.  Sequoia twisted her fingers, and
the man fainted briefly.

     "I came to get Carolina back," he gasped softly, hoarsely rasping for
breath.

     "Maybe we should put this guy on ice until we find Flipper, whichever
planet he's on, and get the whole story from him," suggested Steiner with a
shrug.

     Sequoia nodded and withdrew her fingers.

     "Here's your first fighting lesson," uttered Sequoia, taking a step back.
With the grace of a ballet dancer, her left foot lifted from the ground, grazed
the man's chin, snapping his head around, crossed over his head, and landed on
his left shoulder with a very sick thud.  The man collapsed in Steiner's grip.

---------------------

     When the man woke up, he found a stream of blood leading up his nose,
across his forehead, and through part of his hair before making a small, sick,
red puddle on the ground.  Looking up, he found his ankles bound to the branch
of a tree, tied there with his own pants.  Without thinking, he reached for the
knot...


To   : Irrelevancy
From : Rancid Instigator
Subj : (because I NEVER put down a relevant title.)

     Wearing a cloak darker than the dark of a dismal alleyway, a solemn,
blonde woman strode, a kitten perched casually upon her shoulder. Without even
being aware of her deed, she stepped on something most people usually don't
step on.

     The sounds of bones breaking attracted her attention.  Under her boot was
a hand.  Attached to the hand was an arm, which was attached to a torso, which
was attached to a badly abused head.  It sported big wounds on it, like it had
been beaten with a baseball bat.  The other hand was still wrapped around a
switchblade.

     With a merciless kick, Janne knocked the knife from the prone man's grip,
incidentally breaking several bones in the other man's hand as well.  The
kitten on her shoulder spat while she snorted in contempt.

---------------------


     Kramodac spent the night in a hotel in a room overlooking the meteor
disaster sight.  The lights of the emergency workers digging through the rubble
entranced him, and he did not sleep at all.  The morning found him still
staring, locked in a trance.

     After a hasty breakfast, he signed on as a volunteer, digging through the
rubble and prising off hunks of concrete that were lying in mounds.  It was
depressing, dirty work, and when someone tapped him on the shoulder and
suggested that he take a break, he readily agreed.

     Sitting at a table alone, he sipped from a carton of juice, staring off
into the distance... at least, until a shadow fell across him.

     Standing up and turning around, he found himself face-to-mouth with a
rather tall, very attractive woman wearing a black cloak.

     "I know you," she stated in a low voice, somewhat quivering.  "You were
here two nights ago."

     "What?" he asked, confusion spreading across his face.

     "Please sit down," she suggested in a voice that oozed with command.  "I
need to talk to you."

     He sat.  She walked to the other side of the table and sat as well.

     "You were responsible for this, weren't you?" she began.

     "No... how could I?" he asked, the confusion running laps around his face.

     "Are you not Pinrut?" she asked in a perfectly level tone.

     The name struck a peculiar chord in Kramodac's psyche, and he stiffened
abruptly.

     "NO!" he yelled, perhaps a little too forcefully.  Work stopped nearby as
several people turned to look at him.

     "Please come with me," she commanded.  He followed her silently, like an
automaton.

     Soon, they reached the indoor parking lot of the hotel, which was empty of
other human life.  She stalked several paces away from him and turned around to
face him.

     "It appears, then, that I have been mistaken," she uttered, and swept her
cloak aside, revealing black plate-armour. "I don't like being made a fool of."

     She drew her sword from her scabbard and held it in front of her,
casually, like it was a lightweight toy.  Kramodac, highly alarmed, reached
inside his jacket pocket for his pistol, only to remember, poignantly, that
he'd left it in his hotel room.  She quickly slashed at his chest, and he
leaped backwards.  The tip of her sword parted his jacket and shirt cleanly,
missing his skin by less than a millimeter.

     Completely overwhelmed by the stress of his job and the current assault,
his mind felt something stronger, darker, more malignant take over.  With a
squint of his eyebrows, he magnetically repulsed the sword of the woman who
dared attack him, and it clanged against her chest with a very loud impact,
staggering her back well over a metre.

     "Fool," growled Kramodac, the Doktor Demento training taking over and
unlocking prior memories.  "You dare attack me again?"

     Janne, alarmed at the cut on her neck, dropped her sword to the ground and
fell on her knees.  "Spare me!" she cried, "I was only looking for someone who
was my equal in combat!"

     Kramodac towered over her, showers of electricity arcing from his body and
detonating all the lightbulbs in the garage.  He bellowed as he felt the power
coursing through his body.  He felt like a god.  He felt invincible.

     Janne, pelted by all manner of debris, cringed still further.  "Let me
only serve you, then!  I would do anything to be near you!"

     Kramodac/Pinrut stopped bellowing, and the electricity stopped shooting
from his body.  Slowly, the garage stopped reverbrating from his mighty bellow,
and the place became dark from the lack of illumination.  The silence and
darkness was overpowering.

     Slowly, a pair of footsteps could be heard, crunching in the gravel as
they approached Janne's kneeling, cowering form.  A pair of electric-blue orbs
snapped into existance:  his eyes.

     "Go," commanded a deep, bass voice, and she sensed, rather than saw, a
finger pointing, "and fetch me CHOCOLATE COFFEE!"

     She hastily leaped to her feet and fairly ran from the garage in her
haste.


To   : Flipper's Wont?
From : Flipper
Subj : A new beginning, an old ending, or tying up loose ends?

Flipper opened the door a crack, and stuck his head out, cautiously looking
around.

When he was convinced the hall was empty, he opened the door fully, and he
and Carolina entered the hall.

"Do you think he's still around?" asked Carolina, nervously.

"I don't know," replied Flipper. Determination was set on his somewhat
battered face. "But we'd better find out."

They quietly made their way back to the office. Upon reaching it, Flipper
listened at the door to the living quarters.

"I don't hear anything," he whispered. "You'd better stay here, and I'll
check on him."

Carolina nodded, and watched as Flipper entered the living quarters. After
a few moments, he came back.

"Well?" asked Carolina.

Flipper shrugged, nervously. "He's gone."

The blast of an air horn from just outside made them both jump. Flipper
looked out the window, and saw the moving vans heading towards the gate.
The lead driver saw Flipper, and waved him to come outside.

Flipper and Carolina went out to the trucks. The driver got out, and walked
towards Flipper.

"We got them all loaded, we're ready to go. We just need you to sign these
papers."

Flipper nodded, and accepted the papers, and the driver's pen.

"Someone did a number on you, eh?" asked the driver, accepting the signed
papers back.

"Well, yeah," replied Flipper. "But then, you should see the other guy." He
smiled slightly.

The driver looked him over again. He chuckled. "Don't think I'd want to.
You want to come watch the release again?"

Flipper nodded, and he and Carolina began to get into the truck. Suddenly
Bud came running up. He seemed upset.

"Mr Flipper! What's going on? Where are you going with the dolphins?"

Flipper paused, and turned back to Bud. "We have to set them free," he
explained. "I can't keep them cooped up."

"But why?" asked Bud. "You said you were going to have the dolphins again,
and I could help with them!"

Flipper looked helplessly at Carolina. She nodded, and smiled.

"Let me talk to him," she said.


To   : Actually, Magnavox
From : Flipper
Subj : get into the swim of things.

"You understand now, don't you?" asked Carolina, gently wiping a stray hair
from across Bud's face.

"Well, yeah, I guess so," said Bud, reluctantly. He found it hard to say no
to Carolina's soft voice and kind attitude. Even if she was a dolphin, she
was the best person he'd ever known. Actually, her being a dolphin on top
of that was a plus.

"Alright," said Carolina. "That's a good boy. But it's getting late, you'd
better run along home now. You can still visit us any time you like."

Bud nodded. "You're right," he agreed. "Can I say goodbye to the dolphins,
though?"

"Of course," answered Carolina, wrapping a flipper around Bud's shoulders.
They walked to the back of the first truck, and rolled open the door. The
driver looked at Flipper, and pointed at his watch. Flipper shrugged, and
went back to watch.

Eventually Bud had finished saying goodbye to the dolphins, and waved as he
headed out of the Oceanarium. Flipper and Carolina climbed back into the
truck, and they were on their way. All seemed to be in place.

Except for a pair of evil eyes watching the trucks leave from a dark
shadow. The figure wiped some dried blood from his face, wincing as he
brushed his nose. His scowl deepened, and he watched the trucks as they
turned off towards the beach. It was several miles, but he had lots of time
to walk it.

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